


Casa Madrugada

by flirtygaybrit



Category: DC Extended Universe, Justice League (2017)
Genre: A Variety of Penetrative Sexual Acts, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Team Bonding in a Shitty Motel Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-06 01:15:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15183515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flirtygaybrit/pseuds/flirtygaybrit
Summary: There’s something about cheap, single-story roadside motels that Hollywood films just can’t capture.





	Casa Madrugada

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mashimero](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mashimero/gifts).



> Your excellent threesome prompts jumped off the page and into my head, and here we are! I hope there's enough ridiculous porn in here for you, and whatever _Casa Madrugada_ may be [a euphemism for](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_House_of_the_Rising_Sun#Possible_real_locations) is completely your decision. ;)

There’s something about cheap, single-story roadside motels that Hollywood films just can’t capture.

Bruce sits in the parking lot, his rental idling and blowing stale air over his face as he stares, nose wrinkled in displeasure, at the cracked and faded paint on the motel’s exterior. A sign towers above the building advertising vacancies and a low nightly rate as if begging for passersby to check in for a night, and Bruce can’t help but double-check his phone, desperately hoping that maybe this isn’t where he’s supposed to be.

The sun sits high overhead, warming his skin even through the tinted windows as if mocking him. It’s still barely noon and he can already see the heat shimmer distorting the pavement of the parking lot and the adjacent highway. Even Gotham’s worst heat waves aren’t like this, and the day will only get hotter. But maybe he’ll be lucky, and maybe the address is wrong.

He checks again. Oh, this is definitely the place. Same address on the highway, right next to an emoji of a tongue and a salacious _booked us a good room, enter without knocking_.

Resigned, he clicks his phone off and slips it into his pocket. Christ, he hopes this place has air conditioning.

With a short exhale, Bruce shuts off the car and opens the door, tugging his duffel bag from the passenger seat as he climbs out. The sun hits him full-force, and he takes a few seconds to shrug off his jacket before making his way across the parking lot to the door marked **3**. 

He pauses just in front of the door and tilts his ear toward it, narrowing his eyes in focus. He can see that the floral-patterned curtains have been drawn shut over the windows, as likely to be a means of keeping the room cool as it is a means of granting privacy, but it’s difficult to hear anything beyond the door over the whine of bugs in the heat and the cars zipping by on the freeway.

Well, there’s no time like the present. Bruce hoists his duffel bag, turns the knob, and pushes the door inward.

What greets him behind door number three is a completely unexpected display, even by Bruce’s standards: he immediately identifies Clark, currently nude and seated in someone else’s lap, by the muscles in his back, and Arthur by the thick, tattooed forearms that are wrapped around Clark’s waist. This isn’t a position Bruce is unfamiliar with by any means, Clark’s legs hooked around Arthur’s hips and a cock in him, but he’s never watched anyone fuck two feet above the mattress before.

The longer he stands in the doorway staring, the more easily their languid movements translate into obvious explanation for why Bruce could hear nothing beyond the door. Nothing else in the room appears to be affected by this gravitational anomaly, but for all the complexity of this particular feat, it doesn’t seem like Arthur’s struggling with the levitation situation. Good for him.

“About time,” Arthur growls from the bed. Bruce unceremoniously kicks a rumpled pile of clothing aside and steps into the room, shutting the door behind himself as quickly and quietly as he can. “Thought you were gonna be here an hour ago.”

The motel room is slightly cooler on the inside and smells faintly of salt, which is more likely due to Arthur’s general presence than the scent of sweat; a ceiling fan swishes lazily overhead, pushing the warmth around the room, and Bruce notes with mild disappointment that there is no air conditioner in sight. Aside from Arthur and Clark, the room is occupied by a queen-size bed and a few other antique-looking wooden furnishings. It’s not as terrible as he was expecting it to be, but his skin still prickles uncomfortably beneath his shirt, and as he takes in the lube lying uncapped on the comforter, the torn condom wrapper discarded on the floor, and the flex of Clark’s glutes and thighs as he rolls himself down onto Arthur’s cock, he finds himself unable to discern whether it’s the heat or the general anticipation that’s starting to get to him.

“Meeting ran late. Nice to see you, too.” Bruce kicks his shoes off near the door, eyeing the empty bottles of beer crowding the nightstand next to the bed. It could be Arthur’s, or it could be something Clark picked up on his way over. He’s not worried about it; he’s no stranger to having a drink before noon, and not only has Bruce never personally witnessed Arthur drink anything that wasn’t hard liquor, but he’s never seen Clark get drunk on any liquor at all, so he doubts that today's plans involve getting shitfaced and gang-banging Bruce into another dimension. “Didn’t realize it was first come, first serve. I would’ve tried to come sooner.”

Clark glances back for a moment, acknowledging Bruce with a brief, mischievous smile that widens as he realizes that Bruce has just been watching them. “Hey, I asked if you wanted a ride.” 

Bruce raises an eyebrow as Arthur slaps Clark’s ass. It feels like a perfectly unnecessary gesture in the middle of a perfectly civilized conversation, but Clark’s complaint sounds suspiciously like a moan, so he doesn’t question it.

“Perks of being landlocked, huh?” Arthur says, casting a sharkish grin over Clark’s shoulder. “Get over here and help out already. This guy’s gettin’ heavy.”

Bruce doubts wholeheartedly that Arthur’s stamina is waning, but he’s not accomplishing anything standing around in his business attire, so he turns and locks the motel door behind himself before starting to disrobe. 

The last thing they need is some poor patron accidentally knocking at the wrong room.

Bruce begins to peel off his socks, eyeing the sinuous lines of Clark’s back. It’s likely his doing, the whole mid-air thing, and Bruce genuinely can’t imagine how he’s capable of maintaining the concentration to break gravity with Arthur’s cock sliding into him like that. While Bruce is busy unfastening his belt, he groans again and drops his head against Arthur’s shoulder. There are visible lines of strain—or what might pass for strain, assuming any standard physical feat is capable of straining a Kryptonian—running through his thighs and ass, and there are creases in his flesh where Arthur’s hands are digging into his glutes and holding him open. It’s more than enough to distract Bruce as he attempts to unbutton his shirt; the steady, unhurried pace at which they’re moving makes it hard to tell how long they’ve been going at it, and for Arthur and Clark, a few hours might as well be a few minutes.

He tosses his shirt aside. What he wouldn’t give to experience a few hours of Arthur’s cock.

Still, he can’t help but wonder if Clark would be thankful for a brief reprieve, or at least a change of pace. Bruce could easily take his weight and fuck him from behind. The longer he spends considering it, the more interested his cock becomes, now straining uncomfortably inside his pants; without thought, he flattens his palm over the front of his pants, letting his breath out in a faint hiss as Arthur’s eyes meet his. 

Arthur presses his mouth to Clark’s ear, and Clark’s shoulders shake with silent laughter. 

“Better hurry up,” Clark calls, “he’s starting to get impatient.”

*

By the time Bruce is in a suitable state of undress and finally gets his ass onto the bed, Arthur’s ready to throw in the towel.

It’s not like they’ve been going at it for long. Arthur’s been here all morning, but he can’t have spent more than ten minutes lazily fucking Clark in this weird little gravitational bubble, and that’s including the time Bruce has spent gawking at them from the doorway. It’s actually more like well-paced foreplay than actual sex, an act that serves as a placeholder while Bruce decides just what he wants to do, and that’s fine with Arthur; without a solid surface to plant his feet on, it’s hard to maintain a good rhythm, and there’s no point in wearing himself out trying to impress Clark before the real fun starts. 

He can give a far better performance on solid ground than he can in the air, and as much fun as this antigravity acrobatics exercise is, he’s more than grateful when Clark finally lets them settle back into earth’s gravitational pull and deposits him gently on the bed. The trick isn’t without its drawbacks—there’s an uncomfortable sensation in his ears that signifies the change in air pressure around them, but it passes as Clark climbs off of him and rolls onto his back with a sigh.

“Finally,” Arthur grumbles, pulling himself upright so that Bruce has room to shuffle over on the scratchy motel comforter. The room isn't great, but what were they expecting from a place like this? At least he'd secured them a queen-size bed. With a nightly rate this cheap, they would be hard put to find better lodgings than this… but luxury is Bruce’s thing, not his. He doesn't give a fuck about thread counts and stains when he's already prepared to leave a few of his own. “Get over here.”

He makes a grab for Bruce’s hips, pulling him until he relents and allows Arthur to manhandle him into his lap. He smells clean and looks well put-together even with his clothes off, just as Bruce Wayne should be. He’s not nearly as bruised as he was the last time, either, but Arthur wouldn’t expect a business meeting to knock him around the way a couple of ugly aliens had. The only bruises covering his ribs and shoulders now look to be days old, yellowing and mostly faded. It won’t be enough to slow him down, that’s for sure.

As Bruce steadies himself astride Arthur’s lap, his gaze flicks briefly down over Arthur’s bare chest, lingering shamelessly on his cock where it lies against his hip.

“Don’t remember seeing one of these the last time,” Bruce says breezily. He slides his hand down the front of Arthur’s chest before wrapping his fingers around the base of Arthur’s cock, rolling the condom off in one long, slow stroke. “Don’t think we need it. Do you?”

“Speak for yourself. I don’t know what you get up to in your spare time—”

“ _I_ wanted it,” Clark interrupts. He reaches over, plucks the condom from Bruce’s fingers, and gives Bruce a disapproving look before tossing it in the direction of the trash. “This gets messy enough. We’ll probably have to burn these sheets when we’re done.” 

Bruce seems to think about that as he pushes Arthur’s foreskin back and thumbs over the head of his cock. “They can put new sheets on. And you can put a condom on him again when it’s your turn. I don’t want it.”

It may not be obvious to some, but Bruce is an excellent bed mate. He’s one of the best lays Arthur has ever had, equal parts eloquence and sloppy enthusiasm, a fantastic example of all the ways testosterone, control issues, and a surprising amount of emotional vulnerability can go terribly right. Arthur had expected Bruce to be more domineering when this whole thing had started, but Bruce’s role within their trio is far more interesting and complex than that.

Plus, Arthur’s noticed a pattern: Clark stands nearly as tall as Bruce does, and Arthur even taller still. Clark is unimaginably powerful, and Arthur’s blood is as ancient as civilization itself. They could both crush him in an instant, and yet it doesn’t seem to faze him in the least.

Arthur can’t quite help but wonder what Bruce’s taste in women is like.

“Suit yourself,” Clark says. Bruce busies his mouth with kissing Arthur’s chest instead, which is acceptable to Arthur. It's probably best to keep things from getting too hot just yet.

He slides his hand into Bruce’s hair and winds his fingers in it. Bruce’s mouth is warm and soft as it trails over his pectorals, though his tongue rarely strays beyond the confines of the black lines on his skin. Without looking away from his task, Bruce reaches out a hand and blindly feels his way along the front of Clark’s abdominals, then curls it around his cock.

Clark doesn’t seem opposed to it. “Lucky thing you’re such a good multitasker,” he sighs, and Arthur only has enough time to grin sideways at him before Bruce’s teeth dig into his pectoral and grab his attention. 

Arthur tugs his hair lightly and glances at Clark again. “You mean him?”

“Yeah. I’ve been thinking about last time, and—”

“So have I,” Bruce says. He licks a stripe up the center of Arthur’s throat and finishes it off by scraping his teeth through his beard, and Arthur only has a fraction of a second to catch the expression on Bruce’s face before he leans down over the mattress and catches Clark in an open-mouthed kiss. It’s pretty damn hot, objectively speaking, and Arthur isn’t offended that he’s decided to move on. Possessive macho bullshit isn’t an explicit requirement for these events, and it’s not really his place to tell Bruce who to pay attention to. If he wants something, all he needs to do is ask.

He rubs a hand fondly over the curve of Bruce’s ass and watches him lick his way into Clark’s mouth. It’s slow and languid, as carefully choreographed as the way Bruce’s hand twists along the length of Clark’s cock. Bruce is capable of making good sex look effortless, and that makes it so much more satisfying to push him to his limits.

“You give any more thought to letting us have a go at this together?” Arthur asks, giving Bruce’s ass a smack. He digs his fingers into the muscle and kneads it, groping him firmly until Bruce’s moan escapes from the side of Clark’s mouth. “I know Clark can fill you up all on his own, but I told myself I wasn’t gonna leave this room without hitting both holes.”

Bruce shivers visibly at that, and Clark reaches over and tugs Bruce bodily out of Arthur’s grasp. Possessive macho bullshit isn’t a _requirement_ , but it doesn’t mean they aren’t allowed to get a little grabby on occasion.

It takes a bit for Bruce to make himself comfortable, but Arthur doesn’t mind watching them get into it. He’s happy to roll onto his side and tug at himself to the front-row view of Bruce settling in between Clark’s hips, sliding those broad hands over his sides and his chest, leaving no part of Clark’s skin untouched by his mouth. It isn't hard to tell which of them Bruce is really here for. At least he has the decency to be transparent about it.

“I think you should fuck him,” Arthur suggests to Bruce, propping himself up on an elbow. Clark’s ass is already wet and ready to go, and Arthur’s happy to share. “You didn’t come all this way not to put that big cock to use.”

Clark hooks an ankle around Bruce’s waist, encouraging, but Bruce stops kissing him long enough to ask, “Weren’t you just fucking him?”

“Hey, I might be enough for you, but he needs a better dick than mine to be satisfied.”

Clark is still in the middle of kissing Bruce, but he breaks it to hide his laugh with a mild cough and tugs Bruce closer. 

“I am satisfied,” Clark argues, once Bruce is finished trailing kisses over his jaw and has moved onto his throat. One of his arms is draped over Bruce’s back, and he draws lazy circles along Bruce’s spine while Bruce grinds slowly between his thighs. Lazy frottage alone would probably be good enough to sate Clark on any given day, but he’s still fun to rib. “Besides, Bruce just got here. He’s the one who deserves something special.”

“Sticking your dick in him would be special,” Arthur says without skipping a beat.

Clark narrows his eyes, but Bruce muffles a laugh of his own against Clark’s throat before settling on top of him, eyeing Arthur with the same casual interest.

“Mm, you did start without me.”

“We were getting bored without you,” Arthur clarifies. “You were late, remember?”

“It was barely noon when I got here.”

“Well, you know what they say about good sex.” Arthur reclines against the motel pillows and crosses his arms behind his head as Bruce begins to lift himself off of Clark. “The best time to fuck is when the sun’s coming up.”

“Sounds like bullshit,” Bruce says.

*

It only takes a fraction of a second for Arthur to reach over and wrap his arm around Bruce’s neck. It’s strange to see someone like Bruce being tugged around like a toy, and while Arthur enjoys roughhousing, Bruce is typically off-limits to physical struggles like this. Normally so well put-together, Bruce tends to be in control of almost every situation, but this time he doesn’t seem to mind being pulled back and forth like this, and it’s obvious why: the moment he manages to break free of Arthur’s headlock he crawls up and fists his hand in Arthur’s hair and guides his cock into Arthur’s mouth.

Arthur doesn’t even complain.

Seemingly satisfied at last, Bruce groans and braces his free hand against the wall above the bed. Bruce’s heart rate has been steady (if not a few beats above baseline) since he stepped into the room, but as Arthur relaxes his jaw and lets Bruce control the pace, the tension practically drains out of him, and it isn't long before Clark can hear him subvocalizing his pleasure, moaning softly under his breath as Arthur bobs his head along the length of his cock. 

For just a single self-indulgent moment, Clark allows himself the novelty of looking through the muscle and cartilage of Arthur’s throat to see Bruce’s cock sliding over his tongue. It leaks clear fluid from the tip as Arthur swallows around him, and Clark has a hard time tearing his attention away from it to look for the lube on the bed. 

“Don’t stop what you’re doing,” he tells Bruce. It takes a couple of seconds for him to grab the lube and navigate the strange terrain that Bruce and Arthur’s legs have created on the bed, but once he arranges himself in place behind Bruce, Clark runs his hands from rib to thigh and leans in close to whisper, “He wants to fuck you, but I think he can wait until I’m done. What do you think?” 

He slides his hand down and frames Bruce’s cock between his fingers, holding it still for Arthur to swallow down. It feels unfamiliar to look over Bruce’s shoulder and see his cock in Arthur’s mouth from this angle, but as Arthur’s lips meet the backs of Clark’s fingers, Bruce tips his head back and breathes, “I’m surprised you’re not already in me.”

Arthur makes an emphatic sound of agreement with Bruce’s cock still stuffed in his mouth. Clark grins and kisses under Bruce’s ear, already reaching for the lube.

It’s no secret that Bruce’s legendary impatience can become downright unbearable when he’s as worked up as he is now, but Clark is going to take his time regardless. He spends a few seconds rubbing his slick fingers over Bruce’s perineum, making him shiver and jerk his hips with the slightest application of pressure, but Arthur is more than capable of dealing with any sudden movements. Clark can hear the wet sound of Bruce’s cock sliding out of his mouth, and when he glances through Bruce’s shoulder it’s to discover that Arthur has switched to his hand instead. 

Maybe it’s for the better. Bruce’s pulse jumps each time Clark’s fingertips slide over his hole, and his breath catches in his throat as Clark finally begins to press a finger into him with gentle, steady pressure. His body is wound tight, and he probably won’t make it through the next five minutes if they don’t ease up on him.

Arthur seems to intuit this on his own. With a brief nod at Clark, he settles back against the pillows and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, eyeing them over as Clark rests his chin on Bruce’s shoulder.

“Still doing okay?”

“Mmm. This is the fun part,” Bruce murmurs. “You?”

Clark grins helplessly and hides it against the curve of Bruce’s neck.

“I’m good. Just relax against me. Don’t look him in the eye.”

Bruce chuckles, but he seems content to lean back against Clark’s chest and relax as Clark adds a second finger and slowly works him open. It doesn’t take long for Bruce’s heart rate to drop and his breathing to steady again, and in fact it almost seems to fall into sync with the slow, thorough way Clark stretches him. 

“You know he just wants to make you come as fast as possible,” Clark says quietly, pressing his lips against Bruce’s shoulder.

Arthur grins at him from against the headboard. Bruce just grunts. “Mm. Good thing I have unlimited stamina and the body of a thirty-five-year-old.”

“Good thing,” Clark murmurs. He rubs his free hand along Bruce’s thigh and presses a kiss to the top of his shoulder. Bruce’s body is beginning to relax at his touch, but Clark isn’t in a hurry to add a third finger yet. “So you got stuck in your meeting?”

“Yeah. Ran later than expected.” Bruce takes a deep breath and exhales slowly through his nose as Clark spreads his fingers. “At least I didn’t get held up in traffic. You flew in this morning?”

Clark’s suit is crumpled up in the bathtub, hidden just behind the cheap plastic curtain. He tries to keep a spare set of clothing on him in case he needs to move on the ground, but he wasn’t in charge of booking the room, so all he had to do was drop out of the sky and knock before entering. “Yeah, about an hour before you.”

“I had this place set up early,” Arthur adds, watching the space between Bruce’s thighs.

Bruce hums. “I got your text. You never did say what you were doing out on this coast.”

“I had shit to do.” Arthur makes a vague gesture, then scratches lazily at his chest. “I do more than just fuck around with you shitheads, you know.”

“So do I, but I’m not an asshole about it,” Bruce replies. Clark presses a third finger into him in an unsubtle attempt to draw his attention away from Arthur’s questionable extracurricular activities, because Bruce will definitely be an asshole about it if they let him. Luckily, Bruce seems eager to drop the subject and just groans at him, clenching around his fingers, but he quickly relaxes again and reaches up to push his fingers into Clark’s hair and scratch lazily at his scalp. It feels kind of nice, actually, and in the brief lull in conversation that follows Clark uses his fingers to fuck Bruce at an easy pace without getting him too worked up; his body relaxes slowly, welcoming Clark’s fingers, and when he’s finally ready he mouths at the side of Clark’s jaw and arches his back with a satisfied groan, as if stretching after a long, restful nap.

Clark doesn’t mind taking his time, especially with such a delicate process. Bruce is probably going to be sore in the morning if Arthur gets his way, so the least he can do is make sure he’s as comfortable as possible.

“Just a second,” he says. He slips his fingers out and reaches for a condom, doing his best to ignore Arthur’s lecherous grin, but Bruce is already out of his hands.

*

While Clark searches for a condom, Bruce decides to sit on Arthur instead.

He’s contradicting himself by going to Arthur first. He realizes it only as he’s beginning to lower himself onto Arthur’s cock, but it’s too late to back out now that Arthur is gripping his thigh and helping him ease down, coaxing him past the initial discomfort until he’s seated fully in Arthur’s lap.

If it had been up to Bruce, he wouldn’t have been so thoroughly prepared for this, but Clark is always overly careful about matters concerning Bruce’s body. No doubt he’ll want to spend another ten minutes opening him up further for the main course.

Clark is quick to retrieve a new condom, and Bruce can hear the wrapper crinkling behind him before Clark moves into place.

“I thought we had a deal,” Clark says, resting his chin on Bruce’s shoulder. He can feel Clark’s slick cock rubbing against the small of his back, and he’s suddenly kind of glad that Clark’s taking the hands-on route instead of following Arthur’s lead and watching from afar.

“Guess we know who he likes better,” Arthur says, eyeing Bruce like a hungry predator. His eyes roam all over Bruce’s body, flitting from his face to Clark’s, down to his cock, and back up. It’s kind of flattering, seeing such open appreciation in the face of someone like Arthur. For all his bullshitting, he knows how to treat his partners well.

Bruce smiles briefly at him, then reaches back and grips Clark’s thigh, holding Clark flush against him until he gets the message and curls both arms around Bruce’s waist. “The one that’s not in me. You’ll get your turn,” he says, turning his face to nose against Clark’s cheek. “I didn’t come out here just for fish dick.”

Arthur’s fingers dig into Bruce’s hips as he lifts him up and tugs him back down. 

Admittedly, it is a little bit painful. It also feels fucking fantastic.

Once he lets go of Clark, Bruce begins to ride Arthur slowly, trying to find a satisfying rhythm that makes Arthur’s cock rub against his insides and keeps Clark pressed against his back. It takes a moment, but once Clark follows his lead it kind of works; soon they’re rolling their hips together, kissing lazily as Clark rubs a hand over Bruce’s chest. 

Arthur seems to get the hint, too, and soon he’s rocking his hips up in time with Bruce, adding to the hefty amount of stimulation coming from both sides. There are a lot of broad, possessive hands roaming over Bruce’s body, over his thighs and his ribs, over his chest and up his throat. Arthur even takes the opportunity to curl his fingers around Bruce’s cock, and it feels fucking fantastic being caught between the sinuous rhythm of Clark’s body and steady pace of Arthur’s thrusts.

But he doesn’t stay long. When he feels like he’s been appropriately warmed up, he bites gently at Clark’s lip and carefully lifts himself off of Arthur’s cock. Arthur rubs his thigh without complaint, watching hungrily as Bruce raises himself up onto his knees, spreads his thighs, and reaches for Clark’s hip.

Clark takes the hint.

“Jesus Christ,” Arthur murmurs, skimming his fingers over Bruce’s hips and Clark’s hands. He stares, enraptured, as Clark slowly sheathes himself inside Bruce, wrapping an arm around his waist to hold him in place. “Look at that.”

Bruce has never been one for genuine exhibitionism, but he feels like it’s only appropriate to show off in front of Arthur. Arthur’s clearly enjoying it, wetting his lips as he watches Bruce suck on Clark’s tongue and moan as Clark thrusts slowly into him. It’s convenient to be able to lean against Clark, and as Bruce relaxes and spreads his thighs to give Arthur a better view, he hardly has to do anything except tell Clark just how good it feels.

And Christ, it feels good. 

When he grows tired of being fucked upright, he scrapes his nails over Clark’s scalp, leans forward, and braces himself on all fours over Arthur. Clark doesn’t quite slip out of him, and before long Bruce is groaning into Arthur’s mouth as Clark wipes his hands on the comforter, gets a better grip on his hips, and begins to fuck him briskly—until suddenly he pulls out, leaving Bruce clenching around nothing as he says breathlessly, “Arthur, take over. I have an idea.”

Bruce hardly has time to protest before Arthur’s cock fills him, and once again he finds himself groaning against Arthur’s mouth. It’s Arthur’s turn to hold him in place and fuck him with greater enthusiasm while Clark attends to whatever idea he’s just been struck with. So far, it apparently involves staying close behind Bruce, holding him open with both hands, and rubbing his cock slowly over Bruce’s cleft. If Bruce didn’t already know what Clark and Arthur have planned for him, he would guess that his brilliant idea was to spend the afternoon taking turns fucking Bruce.

Not that it would be a bad thing, of course. This is Bruce’s favourite part about being in the middle: low effort, high reward, as many cocks and fingers as he can handle. If all he had to look forward to today was this, it wouldn’t be the end of the world.

Arthur’s still buried in him when Clark, finally deeming it an appropriate time to take action, begins to stretch him open again. He starts with just a finger, easing it in slowly until it’s nestled alongside Arthur’s cock, and once Bruce gives him the go-ahead in the form of a breathless moan, he adds a second. 

It’s less comfortable this time. Clark’s long fingers and Arthur’s cock are a formidable pairing, even with more lube than is probably necessary, but Clark is just as gentle and thorough this time around, and takes a bit more time and care to avoid rubbing his knuckles against Bruce’s prostate. Bruce is thankful for that, at least, but he’s still sweating all over Arthur’s chest by the time Clark finally removes his fingers. The ceiling fan above them is doing little to cool Bruce down, unsurprisingly, and he can’t help but shiver when Clark leans over him and blows a gentle puff of cool air against the back of his neck.

“Sorry,” Clark says. He sounds genuinely apologetic, which is incredibly funny considering the boundaries he’s about to push with Bruce’s body. “Do you need a break? I can get you some water, or… something to cool you down?”

Arthur’s been rubbing a hand along the length of his spine, groaning occasionally at the press of Clark’s fingers, and he seems to perk up as Bruce pushes himself upright to consider Clark’s offer. “You need a sec?”

“No, let’s keep going,” Bruce says quietly. He shifts his weight and wipes his brow with his forearm, but Arthur must not have heard him, because he looks over Bruce’s shoulder and signals Clark with a twirl of his finger.

“Can’t have you passing out on us.”

Bruce has a sudden and horrifying vision of Clark turning away to whip up a tornado of frigid air in the centre of the room, but Clark doesn’t even remove his hands from Bruce, who shivers again as a wave of chilled air washes over him. “Can you at least aim it somewhere else? I’m not going to fuck you in a freezer.”

“Better safe than sorry,” Arthur says.

“Deal with it,” Clark says over Arthur.

Bruce is still sweating, but at least he's got some entertainment.

He gets back into place while Clark is busy trying to lower the room’s temperature by a few degrees, sprawling comfortably atop Arthur who, despite being a debatably cold-blooded being, feels like a living furnace. 

“Easy,” Arthur murmurs. His hand slides down Bruce’s back and over the curve of his ass, and he takes a moment to press two of his own fingers in alongside his cock until Clark moves into place behind him. “Mm, still nice and tight. You have any last words?”

Bruce grunts and spreads his thighs. “Hurry up before I regret this.”

He’s actually pretty sure he isn’t going to regret this. Hopefully.

The process of getting Clark inside him is agonizingly slow because Clark is, as expected, _extremely_ careful. While it’s less painful, it means that Bruce can feel every single inch of movement, and even when Clark is fully inside, he can’t stop himself from shuddering. Jesus, he’s never felt so full in his life. It’s almost unbearable.

“Christ,” he breathes, dropping his forehead against Arthur’s chest. “Jesus fucking Christ. Fuck.”

When he finally gives the go-ahead, Arthur is the first to move, rocking into him with slow, shallow thrusts. Bruce groans and holds Clark in place with perhaps a bit more force than necessary, unwilling to let him start moving before he’s ready; even Arthur, gazing down at Bruce with heavy-lidded eyes, seems to be lost in the sensation of having another cock pressed snugly against his. 

Sweat prickles on his skin, and when Clark finally begins to move, Bruce has to sink his teeth into Arthur’s pectoral to muffle a desperate noise.

“Bruce,” Clark says, his voice throaty and thick with arousal. He’s still only thrusting shallowly but against Arthur’s cock an inch feels like a mile, and for Clark it must feel like something else entirely. 

“You’re good. Keep going,” Bruce grunts. 

Clark runs a hand over Bruce’s ass and lets out a breathless laugh, as if he can’t quite believe what he’s feeling. “God, are you sure?”

Bruce makes a low sound of affirmation, and Clark seems to be satisfied enough to bottom out again. Arthur follows soon after. Bruce exhales shakily, suddenly unable to tell if his thighs are trembling or if it’s just Clark’s hand.

A pleased moan rumbles in Arthur’s chest, which Bruce hasn’t yet stopped sweating on. He can feel his cock sliding between them, but he can’t tell if it’s sweat or precome. “You heard the man. Give it to him.”

He thrusts into Bruce to make a point. It’s especially difficult to refrain from salivating on his chest, and even more so when Clark slides his hands down to Bruce’s waist and begins to fuck him in earnest; all Bruce can do is press his face against Arthur’s chest, brace himself against the bed, and moan hoarsely as Arthur grips his ass and begins to fuck him, too, just slightly off-rhythm so that Bruce can feel him and Clark sliding over one another.

It’s not quite enough stimulation to make Bruce come hands-free, but it feels pretty damn close.

He keens and tries to spread his thighs wider, heartbeat thundering loud enough that Clark could probably hear it from space. Arthur growls and kneads his ass firmly with both hands, holding him open for Clark to thrust into. “You’re gonna get it first thing tomorrow,” he hisses against Bruce’s ear. “I’m gonna bend you over this bed and fuck that sloppy hole of yours until your legs don’t work.”

Bruce laughs breathlessly and tips his head up to bite at Arthur’s chin. He really likes the sound of that—still not enough to come hands-free, of course—but suddenly Clark makes a ragged sound and curls over Bruce to shudder against his back, fingers digging in almost hard enough to bruise.

Arthur slows to a stop, staring over Bruce with an expression that he’s never quite seen before, and asks, “Wait, did you just fucking come?”

*

It’s rare to see Clark out of breath. Arthur’s pretty sure he’s only seen it a couple of times, each under similar circumstances. He can say with absolute certainty that nothing saps the strength of a Kryptonian like a good fuck. Powerful as Clark is, even he isn’t immune to an orgasm.

“Stop looking at me and keep going,” Clark pants. Arthur can still feel his cock twitching, and he can’t imagine what Bruce must be feeling. Bruce looks pretty damn good, though, for a guy with two cocks in him; though his hair’s practically slicked back with sweat and his breathing is laboured, Arthur can feel that his cock is still hard between them. The expression on his face says he wasn’t expecting that, either, but while Clark catches his breath and rubs his hands over the closest parts of Bruce that he can reach, Arthur decides to take advantage of the tight space and continues to fuck Bruce with Clark still in him. Clark’s cock takes up a fair bit of room and makes Bruce’s ass feel unbelievably tight. It’s a miracle he and Clark were able to last this long; too much more of this, and Arthur’s going to find himself in the same position as Clark, unable to voice his impending orgasm before it hits him.

“You wanna come like this?” he asks Bruce, pushing his hair back out of his face. Bruce shakes his head and closes his eyes.

“No, I… _fuck_.” He bites into Arthur’s pectoral and growls loudly enough that even Clark looks up, looking somewhat dazed with his chin resting on Bruce’s back. Arthur knows that it’s not Clark’s fault—it’s the way Arthur’s still fucking him, holding him in place and thrusting into him like his own personal sheath. He shivers, exhaling sharply, and for a brief moment Arthur is sure he’s going to snap.

“Up to you,” he offers. He buries himself in Bruce and grinds up into him, curling an arm around Bruce’s waist to hold him close. “I’ll come in you. Just say the word.”

Clark moans again. His cock twitches against Arthur’s. Arthur can’t tell if he’s still not done, or if he’s just particularly sensitive.

After a few seconds, Bruce reaches back and shoves halfheartedly at Clark’s thigh, but even Clark himself is a bit sluggish. He eases out of Bruce with a fantastic wet noise before collapsing on the bed next to Arthur. Arthur loosens his grip on Bruce without complaint and is rewarded with the delightful scene of Bruce struggling to all fours and subsequently flopping gracelessly onto Clark.

They make a really fucking nice picture, lying together in a breathless, fucked-out heap. Somehow, Bruce is still hard, but he looks as if he’s just run a marathon. Clark looks similarly wrecked, flushed from his cheeks to his chest with a shade of pink that Arthur has never seen on him before. He’s gonna commit this one to memory for sure.

Careful not to disturb the pair tangled up beside him, Arthur reaches over Clark’s head and picks up one of his half-empty bottles between two fingers, chuckling as Bruce plucks it out of his hand and takes a few long drinks from it, then hands it back with a grimace.

“Couldn’t have done better than warm beer?”

“If you want cold, ask Clark,” Arthur says. He lounges against the pillows and runs his fingers through his hair, shoving it back over his shoulders as he drinks from the bottle. 

Clark is unresponsive. Bruce even glances at him for a few seconds, waiting for him to open his eyes, but it kind of looks like Clark's taking a nap.

Bruce sighs. “Well, this was fun."

Arthur grins, eyeing Bruce over the mouth of his bottle. He’s still hard, cock lying against his hip, sticky with sweat and lube. It would be nice to shove Bruce facedown in the mattress and fuck him into oblivion, but he’s looking pretty rough right now, and Arthur needs to make sure he survives this encounter long enough to repeat it. “I’ll say. We doing take-out?”

“Please,” Clark moans, taking them both by surprise. He’s partially obscured by Bruce, who shifts until he’s draped prone over Clark and kisses his shoulder. “I’ll eat anything.”

“Anything’s good,” Arthur agrees, ignoring the most obvious innuendo he’s ever been presented with in his life. “Long as you can survive long enough for Bruce to order for us.”

“Nnh,” Clark says, which probably means he’ll survive until someone can deliver something that isn't lukewarm beer.

Arthur huffs a laugh, then reaches over and pats Bruce’s ass gently. “C’mon, wake up. You want me to finish you off?”

Bruce grunts something unintelligible, then rolls onto his side so that he can fit comfortably in the space between Clark and Arthur. “Won’t take much. If I’m buying, you can let me come on your face.”

That’s a new request, but he seems sincere enough about it. Arthur watches Clark sling an arm around him, drawing circles with his finger on the back of Bruce’s hand in a casually intimate gesture, then finishes off his beer and leans over to drop the bottle gently onto the floor. Who is he to deny a request like that? 

“Sounds great. Let’s get it over with.”

“Now?”

“Before you do the same thing he did,” Arthur says. He shuffles down the bed and leans over Bruce to sink his teeth into one side of his ass, ignoring Bruce’s hiss of displeasure as he noses into Bruce’s cleft and drags the flat of his tongue over his hole. 

Bruce tastes like lube and sweat and latex. He seems to enjoy Arthur’s tongue enough to shove his ass back on it, so Arthur spends a moment sucking at him and fucking him with his tongue, enjoying the way Bruce moans sweetly against Clark’s skin and twitches involuntarily under his mouth. It only takes a few seconds before he’s pliant enough to roll over and let Arthur pull his cock into his mouth, and once Arthur can feel the muscles in his thighs jumping he presses his thumb into Bruce and sucks his cock until Bruce trembles and comes with a delicious moan, flooding Arthur’s mouth with the bitter taste of his come.

For good measure, he pulls off and lets the last of Bruce’s orgasm spurt over his cheeks and chin, and once Bruce is boneless on the mattress and watching him with an exhausted satisfaction, he wipes it off with his fingers and licks them clean.

*

Clark pulls one of Arthur’s pillows over and gently nudges Bruce into place against it. Once he’s sure that Bruce isn’t about to pass out, he rolls the condom off, drops it in the trash can next to the bed, then crooks his finger at Arthur.

As brusque as Arthur can be, he can also be quite pleasant. It’s funny—Clark is used to being one of the tallest men in the room, and it doesn’t bother him that both Bruce and Arthur stand over him, but Arthur has a larger-than-life personality that Bruce simply doesn’t, a rough-and-tumble demeanor with a side of playfulness that Clark, luckily, can match.

He hooks his ankles behind the small of Arthur’s back and draws him in close, but Arthur seems to have different plans. Arthur’s broad hands slide underneath him, and suddenly Clark finds himself being hoisted up against the wall (no tricks of gravity this time, just pure Atlantean strength) with Arthur’s eyes skimming over the front of him, his mouth curling into a slow grin.

There’s still a trickle of white in his beard. Clark can’t help but grin back.

“No objections?”

“Long as you don’t get tired,” Clark challenges, keeping his voice low as he rubs his thumb over Arthur’s lower lip. He kind of likes that Arthur’s eyes are so bright, so close to human but so very obviously not; it’s not that Bruce’s soft brown irises aren’t easy to get lost in, or that he prefers the deeper blue of his own eyes, but the contrast between the black of Arthur’s pupils and the icy shock of his irises makes it far more obvious when Arthur sees something he likes.

Clark can read him as easily as he can read any human, but Arthur, with all of his human desires, is capable of things that other men—even Bruce—aren’t.

Arthur lines himself up underneath Clark, making slight adjustments to Clark’s position on the wall and the angle of his own hips until he seems satisfied and begins to slowly push in. It’s not as slow as earlier, nor as gentle as with Bruce, and it seems like Arthur doesn’t care much for what happens to the drywall, which groans against Clark’s back as Arthur grips his thighs and begins to fuck him like a wild animal. Satisfied though he is from his own orgasm, Clark typically experiences little discomfort and even less pain, so the punishing pace of Arthur’s thrusts and the sharp sting of his teeth in Clark’s throat registers as the only other possible thing any man might experience this as—

it’s pure, mind-numbing pleasure, and he encourages it by digging his heels into Arthur’s back, dragging his nails over Arthur’s skin, and tipping his head back until it thuds against the wall.

“Harder,” he breathes against Arthur’s ear. Arthur’s breathing is harsh and ragged, but Clark can feel Arthur baring his teeth in a grin against his throat. “Don’t tell me this—nnh—is all you’ve got.”

He waits. Arthur makes a sound like a snarl and sinks his teeth into the muscle of Clark’s shoulder, and as he’s adjusting his grip Clark cheats gravity, pushes away from the wall, and shoves Arthur down into the bed forcefully enough to snap the cheap wooden frame.

“Oops,” Clark says. He levitates over Arthur just long enough enough to watch his pupils dilate and rushes him, slamming into his chest before he has a chance to defend himself.

*

Although Bruce can't participate in their meta-alpha-male displays of strength, he enjoys watching Clark and Arthur in action.

Arthur and Clark wrestle on the bed, flipping one another over on the mattress in a struggle for dominance that Bruce would love to join and would very quickly lose, even without being in a pleasant post-coital haze. His corner of the bed hasn’t yet broken, though, and he’s already decided that this is where he’ll stay until they’ve finished fucking the cheap motel furniture into splinters.

Clark ends up on his back, and Bruce leans up against the pillows and watches as Arthur shoves Clark’s knees up to his shoulders and fucks him steadily, grunting with every thrust. The sound of Arthur’s skin slapping against Clark’s is almost enough to make Bruce want to get in between them again, if only to get himself roughed up a little in the name of passion. It’s a nice dream, but he’ll need another hour or two of rest and a few refreshments before he can get back in the ring. 

Still, it is unbelievably satisfying to watch the muscles in Arthur’s back and ass flex as he fucks Clark deep and fast, but Clark isn’t letting him do it for free; his nails are leaving long, angry welts on Arthur’s back. It makes for a particularly satisfying sight because Bruce has never seen so much as a bruise on Arthur, either, but there’s something alluring about the way they’re fucking, groaning and biting at each other’s mouths like a couple of animals. The mattress springs creak underneath them and Bruce can hear more wood splintering, and he can’t help but think that it would have been worth the wait to climb in between them now.

Bruce blinks back to the present and picks up another half-finished beer from the nightstand. One of Arthur’s hands is down between them now, presumably around Clark’s cock. Not only does Clark have limitless stamina, but he’s pretty sure Clark can also stay hard for an impossibly long time, which feels like more of a curse than a blessing to Bruce. 

He takes a drink from the bottle and rests it on his thigh. The glass isn't cool to the touch, and even the air around them has lost whatever chill Clark put into it. The ceiling fan still swishing lazily above isn’t particularly helpful, either. “You forgot the condom,” he says helpfully.

Surprisingly, or perhaps unsurprisingly, Clark doesn’t even acknowledge him; he digs his heels into Arthur’s shoulders, the little bit of his face that Bruce can see going slack with pleasure as Arthur thrusts sharply into him and stays in place, letting out a string of curses against the curve of Clark’s throat, but just when Bruce is sure that they've finally finished, Arthur pulls out, letting Clark drop his legs with a satisfied groan, and ducks out of sight between Clark’s knees.

“Fucking amazing,” Bruce mumbles. Now that his high has subsided, he’s almost too exhausted to keep watching, but he suffers through another mouthful of warm beer and waits patiently until Clark swears colourfully and arches up against Arthur’s mouth and finally relaxes against the bed, one arm dangling over the edge of the mattress. “Are you done?”

Arthur lifts his head, spits a mouthful of semen onto Clark’s stomach, and, without even looking back, holds out his hand expectantly.

Bruce makes a sound of amusement and hands the bottle over.

“Well deserved,” he says warmly. He has to stretch to reach the case on the floor, but he finally pulls out an unopened bottle and hands it across the bed. Clark takes it with a grateful noise and snaps the cap off, flinging it in the general direction of the nightstand before downing half the bottle. 

“Thanks,” he says, somewhat sheepish, then proceeds to finish the bottle off. Bruce isn’t sure what to do with that, so he simply smiles as Arthur follows suit and flops down behind Clark, throwing an arm over his waist with a satisfied grunt.

“So what’d you order? Must be ready by now.”

“Ha,” Bruce says. He makes no move to retrieve his phone, or to even search for one within the room. He's not even sure he remembers seeing a phone. Mostly, he just remembers Clark's ass in midair.

Arthur raises his brows. “What, you didn’t work up an appetite? Or do you load up before a workout?”

“I’m kind of surprised you know what a workout is,” Bruce says drily, handing a second bottle over. "I thought aquacise was the big thing where you come from."

Arthur uses the bottle to punch Bruce in the arm.

Clark props himself up on an elbow and laughs, and while Bruce can't tell whether he's laughing at Arthur or his joke, he can't help but admire the wild mess of Clark's hair and the pink tinge in his cheeks. He looks as thoroughly debauched as expected of someone who's just finished fucking two men in a row, and he seems quite content to let Arthur spoon him. “Hey, he lasted longer than both of us. Be nice.”

“Mmm. It's a good thing one of you can warn a guy when you're about to finish.”

Clark coughs politely. “Yeah, well. Tight fit.”

Arthur snorts.

A comfortable quiet falls over the three of them. Bruce is still kind of sweating, though not quite so profusely now that he isn’t being split in half. The air in the room has taken on a sort of unpleasant briny quality that Bruce is pretty sure he’ll only be able to tolerate for another minute or two before someone will have to open a window, but the window is all the way across the room, and Bruce isn’t completely sure that he can make that distance just yet. 

He stares at the floral curtains instead, already considering leaving a generous tip to cover the cost of the bed and a new air conditioner. Maybe a new ventilation system. The motel could probably use a few upgrades all around.

On a whim, he tilts his head back and glances up. There’s a dent in the wall that is very distinctly Clark-shaped, and when Clark notices Bruce smiling at it he follows Bruce’s gaze, ruminating on the room’s newest decor piece with an indecipherable expression on his face. He looks like a marble statue like this, lounging on the lopsided bed with a beer in his hand, the long line of his throat exposed and unmarked by Arthur’s teeth. Arthur’s arm is still draped over his waist, the very picture of decadence.

“You suppose the delivery guy will notice that when we open the door?” he asks finally.

Arthur snickers, and Bruce finds himself laughing, too.


End file.
